


Losing You

by MimiWritesHerFandoms



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Blood, F/M, Fluff, Pain, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2019-05-16 08:50:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14808158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MimiWritesHerFandoms/pseuds/MimiWritesHerFandoms
Summary: Sequel to Finding Steve. You throw yourself into your work after what happened in London. You had no idea it would bring Steve back into your life.





	Losing You

 

_**“You know I wouldn’t call if it wasn’t important. Shit, I’m not even sure you’ll get this, but I thought I would try. Y/N is gone, Steve. She disappeared six weeks ago. She was on the job, working for Ross, and she went dark. It’s been six weeks since anyone heard from her, four weeks too long. Ross claims he has done everything he can, and we’ve done everything we’re able to do to find her, but there’s been nothing. Not one lead. I know you only wanted me to call if I needed you, but I knew you’d want to know.”** _

* * *

You’d slunk back to the Avenger’s compound after Steve had left you alone and naked in his rundown hovel of a flat in the crappiest part of London possible. You’d spent two miserable months mourning your loss, bemoaning the fact that you’d ever fallen in love with Steve Rogers - goddamn Captain America - in the first place, then, despite Tony and Natasha’s protests, you’d taken a job with Everett K. Ross, leaving the compound - and hopefully your memories of Steve - behind.

You’d thrown yourself into your work, going on any and all missions that Ross threw your way. That was how you’d ended up on the outskirts of Wakanda. T’Challa had refused your team entry into the country, but that wasn’t going to stop you. You’d wait as long as you had to. 

Things had gone downhill fast, faster than you could have ever imagined. Out of nowhere, your team was surrounded, at least thirty of Ulysses Klaue’s men with guns pointed at you. You’d tried to fight your way out of it, your entire team had tried, tried and failed. Just before the butt of the gun connected with your forehead, you saw Klaue standing just a few feet away, a sardonic grin on his face. He laughed, tipping his hand at you in a mocking salute just before your eyes drifted closed.

* * *

“Just tell me what you know, Nat,” Steve growled, switching the burner phone from his right ear to his left, propping it between his cheek and shoulder. 

“I don’t know anything -” Nat argued.

“Don’t bullshit me, Natasha,” Steve interrupted her, impatient for her to get to the point.

“I’m not, Steve,” she replied. “I’m out of the loop.”

He was silent, waiting, knowing that if he kept his mouth shut long enough she would open up and tell him the truth. After a few seconds, she sighed and he heard the rustle of papers.

“She went to Wakanda, well, not into Wakanda, because there isn’t a snowball’s chance in Hell that T’Challa is letting anybody associated with Ross in there. But she was close, I think. Waiting.”

“Waiting for what?” he asked.

“You,” Nat whispered. She cleared her throat. “At least, I think that was what she was doing. Waiting for you.”

“Bucky,” Steve sighed. “She was waiting for me to come for Bucky.”

“Maybe,” Nat said. “That seems to be the consensus. Of course, Ross isn’t talking. Claims she was off book when she went in, that no one knew about it. Doesn’t explain why she was there with an entire team. If she was off book, she should have been alone, not with half a dozen men.” Nat cleared her throat. “There’s a small cargo ship off the coast, unregistered. It might be Klaue, maybe. But you didn’t hear that from me.”

“Thank you, Nat,” he mumbled, already formulating a plan in his head.

“Be careful, Steve,” she said quietly.

“I’ll try,” was his only answer. “But I can’t make any promises.”

He ended the call, turning the phone over and over in his hand. He needed to get to Wakanda. Time to call the king.

* * *

Your head was throbbing, pain radiating through your skull, down your neck and into your shoulders. You tried to raise your hand to touch it, figure out what was causing the pain, but your hand wouldn’t obey, wouldn’t move. You tried the other, with the same result. You opened your eyes, a fraction of an inch, focusing on your legs, your jeans ripped at the knees and muddy. You tried to stretch your feet out, examine yourself for injuries, but you couldn’t move those either. You dragged in a deep breath and forced yourself to concentrate, moving your fingers, trying - and failing - to move just your wrist. You turned your head, ignoring the screaming muscles, and stared at your arm, your wrist. It took a second for it to swim into focus, but when it did finally did, you couldn’t help but chastise yourself for your inability to realize that you were handcuffed to something, maybe a chair. You swallowed, grimacing as thick blood slid down your throat. You opened your mouth to scream.

The blow rocked your head to the side, pain radiating through your jaw. You tensed, expecting another hit, but it didn’t come, instead the stench of unwashed skin engulfed you.

“Where is he?” Klaue growled.

“Who?” you rasped. Your mouth and throat felt like they were stuffed with cotton.

“Rogers,” he replied, rolling his eyes. “Captain Rogers.”

You laughed and shook your head, your throat aching as if you’d swallowed a ton of glass. “You obviously haven’t heard. I’m not privy to that information. Not anymore. Steve left me.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Klaue said. “You know where he is.”

“I don’t -”

Klaue grabbed your cheeks between his thumb and forefinger, the metal of his prosthetic hand digging into your skin as he squeezed. You cringed, but forced yourself not to scream. That was what he wanted.

“You will tell me, Y/N. You will.”

“I...don’t...know,” you gasped.

Klaue growled, a gruff, irritated sound. He yanked open the door behind him and stepped into the blackness beyond, his voice drifting back over his shoulder.

“She’s awake. Get her to talk this time. I want answers.” The door fell closed, the rusty hinges squeaking as it slowly moved.

Thirty seconds later, the door opened and  _ he _  stepped in, a low chuckle hitting your eardrums, making you cringe, your breath catch in your throat, and your heart skip a beat. The handcuffs rattled against the metal chair as a tremble of fear raced through you. You opened your mouth, but all that came out was a low moan. Klaue came in behind him, pushing the door shut and leaning against it, staring at you.

The man came to a stop in front of you, his arms crossed, a smirk on his blood-splattered face. He wiped the tear sliding down your cheek away with his thumb, his touch surprisingly gentle. You flinched and tried to pull away, but he was lightning fast, grabbing a handful of your hair, forcing you to look at him.

“Where is Steve Rogers?” he whispered.

You shook your head, your lips pursed. You fought against the cuffs, the metal biting into your skin.

The slice was quick, so quick it was nearly a full five to six seconds before you felt any pain. You gasped and tried to pull away, but there was nowhere for you to go. Blood ran down the side of your neck, soaking the color of your shirt.

“How many is that, Y/N? Fifty cuts? Sixty? That’s a long way from a thousand.” He examined the tip of the scalpel in his hand, an evil grin contorting his face.

You shook your head, your lip caught between your teeth, holding back your scream. When you didn’t answer, his hand came up, connecting with your cheek, your neck snapping from the force of the slap. Blood splattered across the floor.

“We have a ways to go,” he said. “Speak up now and the suffering will end.”

“I swear I have no idea where he is,” you cried.

Another cut, this one across your arm, just above the crease of your elbow. You couldn’t hold back any longer, you screamed, a scream that started at the base of your lungs, bursting up and out of you, the sound echoing off of the walls. And another cut, this one across your thigh, the scalpel sharp enough to penetrate the denim and slice into your skin, blood immediately running down and your leg and pooling in the seat beneath you.

“Where is he?”

Black dots were filling your field of vision, your gut churning, a chill racing up your spine, a cold sweat covering your skin. You closed your eyes, praying for unconsciousness.

This time it was a fist that connected with the side of your head, rather than an open palm. A sharp buzzing sound filled your ears and starbursts of light exploded behind your closed eyelids. He crouched in front of you, laser focused. He pushed a strand of hair off of your face and tucked it behind your ear, followed immediately by the scalpel digging into your cheek, slashing open your face. Another scream erupted from you, loud enough to wake the dead. 

“He’ll come for you. He still fancies himself a hero, I think. He won’t be able to resist saving the girl,” you heard him say as a red wave of oblivion crested over you and you sank below the surface of your own conscious.

* * *

“Are you sure?” T’Challa asked.

“I’m sure,” Steve nodded. “She’s there, in the ship off the coast. Heat signatures indicate there are ten, maybe fifteen men on board with her. It’s an unregistered ship, no affiliation with any country. Y/N has to be on board. I just need to get in there, find her, and get her out. That’s it. Then I’m gone, I swear.”

“She could be injured. Seriously injured,” Okoye piped up. “You should not go in alone.”

Steve was shaking his head before the general finished speaking. “I won’t take anyone in with me. I go alone, I bring her out. It’s safer that way.”

“Then what?” Okoye inquired. “You will spirit her away? What if she is in need of medical attention? You may not be able to help her; in fact, you might kill her yourself when you are trying to help her.”

“It’s a chance I will have to take,” Steve argued.

“But one you shouldn’t,” Okoye grumbled under her breath. “Not when someone else’s life is on the line.”

“I will go with you,” T’Challa said.

“No, Your Majesty,” Steve shook his head.

“Absolutely not.” Okoye glared at her king. “I cannot allow it. I will go.” 

“Okoye -”

“I said I will go,” Okoye snapped, before turning on her heel and disappearing out the door.

“Do not argue with her, Captain,” T’Challa muttered, “you will not win.”

“I can see that,” Steve said.

* * *

The airship hovered twenty feet above the water, invisible to the naked eye. Ayo held it steady while Okoye opened the hatch at the bottom of the ship. She shot a look over her shoulder at Steve, winked, and dropped into the water. Ayo did not move, did not even seem to blink as she waited for Steve to follow the general into the black, churning water. He took a deep breath and stepped out of the ship.

The water was a million pinpricks of ice stabbing into his skin and there was a moment when he wanted to let the cold take him, let the cold have it’s way with him, but he fought against it, fought to surface of the water, coming out just a few feet from Okoye. He nodded her direction when he caught her eye, then they set off at a steady pace, moving toward the ship.

Once they were on the ship, they split up, circling it, moving quickly to eliminate or remove any mercenaries they came across, coming back together at the center of the ship. Without a word, they set off down the stairs, moving as quietly as possible.

Steve heard her almost immediately, heard her blood-curdling screams the second his foot hit the bottom of the stairs. It seemed to seep into his bones - her fear, her terror, her pain. It blinded him to everything else, his vision going red, his focus on getting to her, no matter who stood in his way.

He hit the first man they encountered so hard, he flew twenty feet down the narrow hallway, slamming into the metal wall, slumping to the floor, dead or unconscious, Steve didn’t care. He followed the sound of Y/N’s screams, Okoye right behind him, the two of them finally emerging in a huge open space, what appeared to be a cargohold, a closed door on the opposite side. That’s where she was.

Klaue stood in the back of the room, just a few feet in front of the door. He had that insane smile on his face that Steve remembered from their last encounter. He was bouncing on his toes, a high-pitched giggle coming from of him.

“I knew you’d come Captain Rogers,” he laughed. “Always the hero. Even when you’re in hiding you can’t help but swoop in to rescue the girl.”

“Where is she, Klaue?” Steve growled.

His question was answered by a bone chilling scream erupting from behind the door, a scream that made Steve’s skin crawl.

He clenched his fists, his fingers aching to be holding his shield. He wanted nothing more than to decapitate Klaue with it.“What did you do?”

“We merely asked her a few questions,” Klaue shrugged. “Questions she refused to answer.”  

Steve took off at a run, his feet clanging on the metal floor, his only objectives being destroy Klaue and get to Y/N. Klaue spun around, hurrying out a three foot hatch in the wall. Steve had no intention of following him. Every bone in his body was telling him that Y/N was in that room, that she was hurt, maybe even dying. He grabbed the door handle and ripped the door open.

The explosion knocked him backwards, almost all the way across the room, Y/N’s screams echoing in his ears.

* * *

You were moving, not on your own accord, someone was carrying you, strong hands around your waist and under your knees. You could hear their heart beating, feel it against your ear. A voice, familiar, strong, soothing, was murmuring in your ear, a calm falling over you, pushing the pain away for just a moment. You squeezed your eyes closed and let the darkness take you.

You had no idea how long you were out, but once you finally came awake, there was a familiar hospital scent filling your head and bright lights nearly blinding you as you struggled to open your eyes. Someone squeezed your hand and the voice you’d heard earlier whispered your name.

“Y/N?”

You knew that voice, you’d know it anywhere. “Steve?” you mumbled, squinting at the man sitting beside you, one arm resting on your bed, the other holding your hand.

“Yeah,” he grinned. “How you feeling?”

“Like shit,” you grumbled, moaning as pain wormed its way through your body.

“Yeah, you’re not looking so hot,” he chuckled. “Wish I could have gotten there sooner.”

You reached out and cupped his cheek, your thumb drifting over the line of soot on his cheekbone. “You shouldn’t have come. You could have been killed.”

“I’m fine,” Steve shrugged.

“Always the hero,” you murmured. “I’m sorry you had to come. I know that’s not what you wanted.”

“Y/N -”

You couldn’t stop the tears sliding down your cheeks. “It’s okay, you don’t have to stay. You can go. Disappear again. I understand, I - “

Steve cut you off, his lips pressed to yours. “I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered. “I was stupid to leave you. It won’t happen again.”

“Wh-what?”

“I was stupid,” he repeated.

You smiled, tangled your fingers in his hair, and pulled him back down into a kiss, sighing contentedly. “Yeah, you were.”

“Am I forgiven?” he grinned.

“Not yet,” you replied. “I think you’re going to have to remind me a few hundred more times how stupid you were.” You shifted slightly, grimacing as pain shot through you. “And there are other ways you can make it up to me, once I’m out of this hospital.”

“Mmm, I think I can do that,” Steve chuckled. He crawled into the bed beside you, his arms sliding around you, pulling you against his chest. “But for now, you need to rest. I’ll be right here.”

You closed your eyes, but you were afraid to sleep. Last time you’d fallen asleep in Steve’s arms, you’d woken up to find him gone. You took his hand, intertwining your fingers with his, your cheek pressed to his chest, his heartbeat strong and sure.

“Don’t even think about taking off,” you mumbled. “I swear to God I’ll kick your ass if you do.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Steve answered, kissing the top of your head. “I’ll be right here when you wake up. I promise.”

 


End file.
